The Island

by Elin Hilderbrand

“Life is good!” a gentleman wearing a tattered fishing hat called out to them. And Tate, the ambassador, eagerly called back, “Life is good!” “Life is good” was the accepted Tuckernuck greeting. It was a password. By calling out, “Life is good!” Tate was announcing that they belonged there, despite their thirteen-year absence.

Birdie said, “Tate, is something the matter?” She didn’t like being put on the spot like this. “Can I plead the Fifth on that?” Birdie said, “By all means. Let’s all plead the Fifth on everything while we’re here and have a very quiet and unproductive month. And then when we get back to the mainland, we’ll be seething with all the things we’ve kept inside.” Tate was taken aback. She looked at Chess, who had her forehead in her hands.

Does anyone think this way about her own mother—that she’s a person with desires and longings and tender, aching spots? Tate had always fiercely loved her mother, but had she ever known her?